nd cast me away, for I was a
burden to him."

Both were silent in the bitterness of their sorrow. The countess
fastened her large, bright eyes upon the young girl, who stared before
her, pale, motionless, absorbed in her own grief.

This anxious silence was finally broken by the countess. "I have not
yet told you the name of my lover. Shall I name him to you?"

Elise awoke as if from a heavy dream. "No," cried she, eagerly, "no,
do not name him. What have I to do with him? I do not know him. What
do I care to hear the name of a man who has committed so great a
crime?"

"You must hear it," said the countess, solemnly. "You must learn the
name of the man who chained me to him by a bloody, guilt-stained past,
and then deserted me. It is Colonel Count Feodor von Brenda!"

Elise uttered a cry, and sank, half fainting, back on the cushions of
the sofa. But this dejection did not last long. Her heart, which for a
moment seemed to stop, resumed again its tumultuous beating; her blood
coursed wildly through her veins, and her soul, unused to the despair
of sorrow, resolved to make one last effort to free itself from the
fetters with which her evil fate wished to encompass her. She drew
herself up with glowing cheeks and flashing eyes. "This is false," she
cried; "a miserable invention, concocted to separate me from Feodor.
Oh! I see through it all. I understand now my father's solemn
asseverations, and why Bertram brought you to me. But you are all
mistaken in me. Go, countess, and tell your friends, 'Elise offers up
every thing and gives every thing to him whom she loves, in whom she
believes, even if the whole world testifies against him.'" And with a
triumphant smile, throwing back her head, she stood up and was about
to leave the room.

The countess shrugged her shoulders as if in pity. "You do not believe
me, then?" said she; "but you will believe this witness?" and she drew
a letter from her bosom and handed it to Elise.

"It is his handwriting," cried the young girl, terrified, as she took
the letter.

"Ah! you know his handwriting, then? He has written to you, too?"
sighed the countess. "Well, then, read it. It is a letter he wrote me
from Berlin at the commencement of his captivity. Read it!"

"Yes, I will read it," murmured Elise. "These written words pierce my
eyes like daggers, but I will not mind the pain. I will read it."

She read the letter, which annihilated her whole happiness, slowly and
with terr